


The Desecration of Eliot Spencer, A Divergence

by TriaKane



Category: Leverage
Genre: Coercion, Eliot Spencer Whump, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Torture, mental manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriaKane/pseuds/TriaKane
Summary: Their hitter was taken, and Moreau has escaped.
Relationships: Damien Moreau/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	The Desecration of Eliot Spencer, A Divergence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zaniida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaniida/gifts).



> This is a different version of the original story, [The Desecration of Eliot Spencer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12388095). The story starts the same as the original, but diverges after the torture. Several key issues and and scenes that happen in the original, do not happen here. It's almost a different story with a similar theme. 
> 
> I did this after comments about another way I could have gone with the original. Because of that, this story is dedicated to [Zaniida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaniida/pseuds/Zaniida). I could only dole out so much emotional abuse before I had to call a halt.

Sitting in a small Italian restaurant in the heart of the downtown, Nate’s ringing cell phone interrupted the conversation he was having with Sophie.

Frowning, Nate shook his head at Sophie and pocketed the phone, call unanswered.

Before he could suggest dessert at his place, his cell rang again.

“Sorry,” he said, grabbing the phone and answering the call. “What do you want, Sterling?”

“You’ve got trouble, Nate,” Sterling said. “Moreau escaped.”

***

Hurrying to the car, Nate handed Sophie the keys while he called Hardison.

“Parker with you?” Nate asked as Sophie frantically gestured. “Yes,” he told her. “Eliot?” Nate shook his head. “Call him now, I’ll hold.”

Nate put the phone on speaker and held it up. They exchanged worried looks as the ringing went unanswered.

“What is it, Nate?” Hardison asked.

“Moreau,” Nate said tersely. “Stay there, we’re going to Eliot’s. Keep trying to reach him.”

Pocketing the cell phone, Nate held on as Sophie drove. “He’ll be fine.”

They didn’t talk anymore as she drove.

Arriving outside Eliot’s building, Nate jumped out of the car before she could fully stop. “Stay here. If anybody comes, just take off.”

He heard the doors lock as he ran into the building.

A few minutes later, Nate was back, looking around disgustedly. “He’s not here.” He climbed back into the car and tried the hitter’s phone again.

“Where could he be Nate?” Sophie asked agitatedly.

Nate was afraid he already knew.

***

Hardison was ready when they got to the brewpub.

“Okay, I tracked his comm to Richmond, near Clinton street.”

The screens came alive, focusing in.

“What’s he doing in that neighborhood?” Sophie asked.

“His favorite sushi place is right around...” Everyone was staring at Parker. “What?”

“How do you know that?” Hardison asked.

“How do you not know that?”

“Hardison!” Nate and Sophie said at the same time.

“Okay, I got it,” Hardison said as the screens filled with images of empty streets. “That’s not good,”

“Run it back,” Nate directed.

“Already on it.” Hardison tapped on his keyboard a few more times, and then the images on the screens were reversing.

“There!” Sophie said, pointing.

Hardison hit play and the images began to crawl forward. Eliot walking alone, crossing the street, then…

“Did they just hit him?” Parker said, stepping closer to the screen.

Hardison zoomed in and tried to clean up the image. They watched again as a van pulled away from the curb and ran into Eliot, knocking him down. They watched three men exit the vehicle, hit a dazed Eliot with a pipe or baton, knocking him to the ground. They watched the men secure Eliot’s hands behind his back and load him in the back of the van. It happened in less than a minute.

“Is that Moreau?” Hardison asked. “Did Moreau do that?”

“We have to assume it is,” Nate said. “Until we... we...”

“Uh, guys, you’re not gonna like this.” Hardison minimized the traffic cameras and brought up a national news report.

“This is Becca Henderson reporting from San Lorenzo where earlier today President Michael Vittori was assassinated.”

“Was that Moreau too?” Sophie asked.

“All of this on the heels of former President Edwin Ribera’s death in a car accident yesterday.”

“Moreau’s cleaning house,” Hardison said grimly, “and I think Eliot’s next.”

“Find that van,” Nate directed, “I wanna know where it went.”

***

“If I told you to stay in the car, would you?” FBI agent Todd McSweeten asked.

“Would you?” Nate answered.

“Fair enough.”

Hardison had tracked the van to a warehouse near the Portland harbor.

“Stay behind me,” McSweeten said, drawing his weapon.

At a door to the warehouse, McSweeten tested a door knob and found it unlocked. He eased open the door, light spilling out. After a quick glance in, McSweeten gestured for Nate to wait.

After a quick sweep of the warehouse, Sweeten holstered his weapon and gestured to Nate. The warehouse was quiet and, except for the van Hardison had tracked there, empty. Other than a discarded metal pipe, the van was empty and revealed no further clues as to Eliot’s whereabouts.

“Hardison,” Nate said, speaking into his comm, “what do you have?”

Thinking three steps ahead, Nate had given Hardison instructions before leaving to meet McSweeten.

“Two cargo type vans and two box trucks left that area within the last two hours.” Hardison, Parker and Sophie had been reviewing all video footage from the surrounding area. “Traced one van to Portland International, where it’s sitting inside a private hanger. The other van went to Pearson Field just across the Washington border. One box truck is heading south and the other north.”

“The trucks are a decoy,” Nate told him, “Moreau would want to get Eliot out of here quickly. Focus on Pearson Field, McSweeten and I are going to Portland International.”

***

McSweeten’s FBI badge gained them access to the private hanger, but there was nothing in there except an empty van. No private flights had departed since before Eliot’s disappearance, and no private flights were scheduled to depart that morning.

“Hardison, what have you got?” Nate asked, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

“Nada,” Hardison said definitively. “No planes in or out in the last four hours.”

“Did you—”

“Confirmed via six different cameras,” Hardison confirmed.

“What about the—”

“Bribed a security guard to scout the van. Said he didn’t have to, the guy had parked and was picked up by a dark SUV.”

Nate ran a hand through his hair. _What the hell? It didn’t make... make sense... oh hell!_

“The box trucks!” Nate slammed his hand down on the car. “Where are the trucks, Hardison.”

“Uh...” Nate heard Hardison’s fingers flying on the keyboard. “The north bound one is... north of Seattle, still on the 5.”

“And the one going south?” Nate asked, but somehow he already knew what the answer would be.

He waited, thinking about what Moreau’s next move would be.

“Nate,” Hardison said, surprised, “it stopped.”

“Where?” Nate asked, already getting into McSweeten’s car.

“Aurora State Airport.”

“Find out what you can, we’re headed there.”

***

This time McSweeten’s FBI badge elicited nervousness from the two men on duty. Nate channeled his inner hitter and punched the security guard three times before McSweeten could stop him. After that, the men were surprisingly cooperative.

They’d been paid handsomely to look the other way as a private plane had landed, after hours, and was escorted to a private hanger. The plane had been refueled and taken off quickly. All of this had happened three hours ago.

“Hardison, I need you to find me a plane.” Nate gave the hacker the tail number.

“Okay, I gotcha, I gotcha...” More clicking on the keyboard. “Uh huh, uh huh... huh?”

“What?!”

“Nate, the flight plan says they’re going to Boston.”

“Get us on the next flight out.”

Luck was on their side as they caught the 10:45p.m. non-stop to Boston with minutes to spare. Unfortunately, with no time to grab much, they were all flying under their own names. Nate knew Moreau was smart enough to figure they’d come for Eliot, he just hoped they were in time.

***

Detective Patrick Bonanno met them at Boston Logan and escorted them to private room.

“We missed them at the airport by minutes,” Bonanno told the team. “We detained the flight crew, but their only orders were to fly to Boston. They didn’t see who was being transported or what they put him in.”

“Hardison.”

“Already on it.”

“Hacking into airport WIFI,” Hardison mumbled as he worked. “Really should change their password. Oh, Logan, you think you can lock me out? Oh, hell, no. Uh huh... give it up, give it up. Yeah, baby, there we go.”

They gathered behind Hardison as he pulled up video from around the airport. Four vans left the private hanger area in rapid succession. Like in Portland, the vans quickly went in different directions.

“This’ll take a minute,” Hardison said without looking up.

“It’s a shell game, Nate,” Sophie said.

Nate nodded in agreement

“Hurry Hardison!” Sophie said irritated.

“Woman, what do you think I’m doing?” he bit back.

“Stop it!” Parker said loudly. She couldn’t stand it when the team argued; it made her feel insecure.

“It’s okay, Parker,” Nate soothed. “We’re all worried.”

Hardison was methodical in his search, one van after another, he followed their trails, switching from city cameras to local businesses, hacking whatever he had to in order to follow them.

“First one, okay. This is weird. It’s at the city impound lot.”

“I’ll check it out,” Bonanno said, already dialing.

After a few minutes, Bonanno disconnected the call. “It was abandoned in front of South station and towed. It’s empty.”

“Okay, I’ve got the second one,” Hardison told them. “It’s on 95, headed south. Hasn’t stopped.”

Bonanno was dialing again.

“Nate,” Sophie whispered, “this is taking too long.”

He shrugged helplessly.

“Aha! Van three is... oh no.” Everyone looked at him. “Van three is at Hanscom Field near Concord.”

“I’ve got it,” Nate said. “Sophie, get me the number.” He knew she needed to do something.

“The last van, Hardison, where is it?” Parker asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“I, uh, yeah,” he said, momentarily distracted. “I’m on it. Okay, okay.”

“Van two is empty,” Bonanno said. “A Statey was nearby and stopped and searched it. Nothing.”

“Damnit!!” Nate said. “Hanscom has been closed for the last twelve hours due to power issues. But they did say a panel van is parked there. The security guy checked it out. It’s abandoned.”

“Eliot’s gotta be in number four!” Parker said excitedly. “Hardison, where is it?”

“Looking, looking.” His fingers flew across the keyboard, the images changing on his screen rapidly. “Whoa.”

“What?” Nate said, leaning in.

“It’s parked in front of McRory’s.”

***

They raced to the pub that had been their base of operations for three years. Parker was out of the SUV before Bonanno completely stopped, Hardison right on her heels. She flung the back doors open. The van was empty.

“What the hell?” Sophie said, looking from Hardison to Parker.

“He never left the airport,” Nate said ruefully.

“What?” Bonanno asked.

“You said it earlier, Sophie. It’s a shell game.”

“But I followed each van!” Hardison threw his hands up in the air.

“He was never in one of the vans,” Parker said, realizing.

“No,” Nate confirmed. “He was put on another plane.”

“So, where the bloody hell is he?” Sophie asked.

***

A wave of nausea swept over Eliot. He kept his eyes closed and tried to breathe through his nose. As the nausea passed, he took stock of his situation. He was lying face down on a cold surface, probably the floor; he could feel the rough concrete surface against his cheek. His hands were bound behind his back; he moved his wrists experimentally, feeling plastic instead of metal or rope. The zip-ties felt thicker than standard police issue and he wondered if they were military grade restraints. His ankles were also bound, but through the layers of clothes, he could only assume they would be secured with the same type of restraints.

Physically, his head was pounding. His shoulders were stiff. His wrists were sore. He felt a twinge in his right hip. Taking a deep breath, he felt a small stitch also on the right side. He ran his tongue around his mouth, but tasted no blood just a faint metallic tang. Inhaling slowly, he couldn’t identify any specific scent other than a damp mustiness. Focusing on what he could hear, Eliot didn’t detect anyone else in the immediate area, and all other sounds seemed far off and indecipherable.

Slowly he opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. The floor was indeed concrete, as was the wall in front of him. He turned his head and realized he was in an 8’ X 8’ holding cell. The solid metal door had a small slide window which was closed.

Rolling over, Eliot sat up and tested his wrist restraints. The plastic bit roughly into his wrists as he attempted to pop the restraints open but from a sitting position he had little success. With his ankles bound together, it would be difficult getting to his feet; difficult but not impossible. Lying back down, Eliot pulled his knees up and rocked back and forth, building enough momentum to propel himself onto his feet. He jumped a couple times until he could lean against a wall, the action causing a fresh wave of nausea to wash over him.

Drugs, he guessed, something to keep him sedated. He had a strong tolerance to most sedatives, but he wasn’t immune. From the throbbing in his head and the stiffness in his shoulders, he wondered just how long he’d been kept drugged.

When the nausea passed, Eliot leaned away from the wall, bent a little at the waist, raised his bound wrists behind his back and slammed them against the base of his spine. He did this three times in quick succession but felt no give in the restraints, he growled in frustration and leaned back against the wall.

Hearing the sound of people approaching, Eliot took a deep breath and waited to see what would happen.

The viewing window slid open and he saw an unknown man peer in before the window slid shut again. Eliot listened as a key was inserted into the lock and turned sharply. If his feet had been free, he would have run and kicked the door open, throwing off his captor and trying to make a break for it, but that wasn’t an option so he just waited.

Seeing two guards with Glock 17s in their side holsters, Eliot guessed they were Eastern European. His guess was confirmed when they stepped back and another man stepped in the door frame.

“Bring him,” he said with a distinctive accent.

Eliot let himself be shoved into a wheelchair; everything he learned about his location would help him escape. They pushed him down a long corridor, opening two more locked doors before pushing him into a larger room, probably 10x16, which he took to be an interrogation room. He noticed the table and chairs which were bolted to the floor, and subconsciously noticed the metal rings set into the ceiling and floor. In the far corner of the room, he saw a shower head, faucets and a floor drain. He was lifted from the wheelchair into a straight-back metal chair, metal handcuffs were attached to his ankles and wrists, and then attached to floor rings.

Two guards left but the third man stayed, taking position by the door. He also had a Glock 17 in his side holster but his clothing was less uniform, and there was an air of authority about him.

“What now?” Eliot asked but got no response.

The man was silent.

“Hey, asshole,” Eliot said, “got a sister?”

Seeing the muscles clench in the man’s jaw, Eliot smiled wryly. _Yep._

As if on cue, the door opened, and dressed all in black, Damien Moreau stepped inside, confirming everything Eliot suspected.

***

“Seems like old times, Eliot,” Moreau said, taking a seat across the table from him.

Gesturing to his bound hands, Eliot said, “Not so much.”

“Ah, yes,” Moreau said smoothly. “I had to be sure you wouldn’t try to get away before we could talk.”

Eliot didn’t respond.

“You know, you're the only person who ever left my employ. And you didn't say a goodbye. That hurt.” Damien gestured to himself. “I thought we had something,” he winked, “special.”

“Not the way I remember it,” Eliot said simply.

Moreau shrugged and changed the subject. “Did you and your little team really think I’d stay locked up in that prison?”

“How’d you get out anyway?”

Laughing, Moreau said, “Oh, Eliot. You and your team though you'd bankrupted me but I had money in places no one knew about.” He rubbed his hands together. “Grease the right palm here and there and, _voila_ , here I am.”

Eliot waited; he knew how Moreau loved to talk.

“Sadly, I had to get a whole new crew. You saw to that. Unfortunately, there’s no one as good as you.” Moreau gestured to the guard by the door. “I’ll admit, Chapman was a poor substitute but he was able and...willing.”

“You gonna talk me to death, Moreau?” Eliot asked tersely.

“So eager,” Moreau said with his viper’s smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to it. But before we get started, I want you to know that I’m not going to kill you and neither are my men. Not unless you give them no other choice. When we’re done, you will be released.”

Eliot looked at him suspiciously.

“I give you my word,” Moreau said definitively.

While Moreau was a sadistic, sick, son of a bitch, he was a man of his word. If Moreau said he would be released, then Eliot had no choice but to believe him. And at least on the surface, Eliot would go along with whatever Moreau’s game was, but he would look for any weakness and exploit it to escape and save himself. It was how he was built.

“But in the mean time,” Moreau interrupted Eliot’s thoughts of escape. “You need to be reminded why you’re here.”

The door opened and four guards came in.

“Let’s play, shall we?”

***

Moreau rose and left the room with his guard. The four men waited until they heard the bolt slide shut before they moved towards him. In any other situation, Eliot would have been impressed with the way the guards handled him. They took no chances on him getting loose, fastening him with a new set of restraints before removing old ones, and making liberal use of the rings set into the floor to ensure limited movement.

When they were finally done moving him, Eliot found himself strapped face down on the table, arms bound to his sides. They had also removed his boots and socks, and cut off his shirts.

Eliot watched the guards leave and Moreau come back in, he was followed by an older Asian man. From Eliot’s position on the table, he watched silently.

“I wanted only the best for this,” Moreau started. “Mr. Li is an expert in the ancient art of _bastinado_. I hope you appreciate the lengths I went to for this.”

Moreau walked around the table and stood in front of him. Eliot craned his neck to look at him.

Mr. Li came around the table and showed Eliot a rattan cane.

“Please, begin,” Moreau said with glee.

Mr. Li moved out of sight. Eliot prepared himself for a blow to his back, but unexpectedly the cane hit the soles of his bare feet sending a shock through him and he couldn't hold back the gasp.

“Yes, yes,” Moreau said, “it stings a bit, doesn't it?”

Eliot heard the rattan cane sweep through the air again and again, striking the soles of his feet. Twenty strokes, Eliot couldn't help but count. He'd been tortured before—beaten, punched, cut, shot, but this was different. He tried to calm himself, but the blows came so fast, bit so hard, he couldn't get a grip.

Moreau knelt down beside him, studying his face. “That's what it felt like when you left me. It stung.”

Moreau rose and walked out of sight. Eliot felt Moreau’s cool fingers run across the soles of his stinging feet.

“Do you understand?” Moreau asked.

Eliot said nothing.

“Do you understand?” Moreau pushed his thumb into a particularly tender spot on his sole. “Do you?”

Eliot grunted.

Moreau pushed harder.

“Yeah,” Eliot growled.

“Twenty more, I think,” Moreau told Mr. Li.

***

Twenty brutal blows later, Mr. Li left the cell.

“Do you need a break?” Moreau asked, brushing the hair away from Eliot’s face. A light sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow.

Eliot tried to move away, but there was no slack in his bonds and he was forced to endure Moreau’s touch.

“Just get on with it,” Eliot growled.

Moreau shrugged as if to say ‘as you wish’, then said, “You look like you need a drink of water.”

Moreau snapped his fingers and the cell door opened; he left and the four guards from earlier came in. With the same attention to detail, the men shifted Eliot onto his back, leaving him no room to make a move, just reinforcing how well they had been trained and informed.

The men left and Moreau returned with two different men. Eliot’s position on the table allowed him to watch the two men fill buckets of water from the faucets near the back of the room, and anticipate what would come next.

Before they began, one man reached under the table and hit a lever Eliot hadn’t noticed, lowering the end of the table where Eliot’s head was.

“Begin,” Moreau instructed, standing to the side, a smile on his face.

Even as the wet towel was slung across his face, Eliot tried to remain calm. Moreau isn’t going to let me die. Moreau isn’t going to let me die, the mantra ran repeatedly though Eliot’s head as he tried to fight the urge to choke as a bucket of water was poured over his face. What felt like minutes later, the water stopped. In reality, it had only lasted 14 seconds.

Eliot coughed roughly, gasping for breath, the restraints holding him in place.

“More?” Moreau asked.

“Bring it!” Eliot barked between gulps of air.

“You heard the man,” Moreau said snidely, gesturing for them to proceed.

Once again the wet towel was draped over Eliot’s face and a bucket of water was slowly poured over his nose and mouth, simulating drowning.

Eliot spit up water, gasping for breath.

“This is how I felt when I saw you again, like I couldn't breathe,” Moreau said quietly, kneeling beside Eliot’s ear. “Do you understand?”

Eliot coughed again but didn’t answer.

“Do you?” Moreau said louder, slapping Eliot’s face.

“Yeah!” Eliot said, his voice rough. “I get it!”

Moreau stepped away as the two men returned with freshly filled buckets.

“Let’s start again.”

***

After two more rounds, the two men left, leaving Eliot exhausted and gulping air like a starving man.

“Need a break?” Moreau asked, almost tenderly.

“Wha’d’ya want from me Moreau?” Eliot asked, his bloodshot eyes pinning Moreau in place.

“Nothing.” Shaking his head, Moreau spread arms. “I just want you to know how I felt. Have anything to say to me?”

Eliot said nothing, gritting his teeth.

“How about sorry?” Moreau suggested. “Why don't you tell me you're sorry?”

“Go to hell!” Eliot yelled.

Moreau laughed loudly. “Not today, my friend.”

Moreau snapped his fingers and the four guards come back in. Eliot heard the crackle a second before he felt the stun gun zap him in the ribs, knocking him unconscious.

@#$

When Eliot came to, he realized he was hanging from the rings in the ceiling. His shoulders screamed from the strain but with Moreau sitting in front of him, Eliot tried to give nothing away. Experimentally, he tried to move his legs, but quickly figured out that they were also secured, probably to the rings in the floor. He was a bit unsettled to only be wearing his boxer briefs.

“He's ready,” Moreau said with a smirk.

Eliot heard the crack of a whip behind him and tried to turn his head to see what was coming. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure twining a whip.

Moreau started talking again, drawing Eliot’s attention to him.

“You killed all my men. All 16 of them. I think it's only fair you feel the same 'sting' I did.”

Moreau nodded and Eliot heard the man behind him step into place, and then the sound of the whip whistling through the air.

He tried to prepare himself for the blow but it still made him gasp and grit his teeth. The second strike came quickly but he closed his eyes, trying to mentally remove himself and absorb the pain.

Moreau’s yell broke his focus, screaming, “Harder!”

The blows came faster and harder. Eliot’s back stung and burned with each strike, and he remembered shooting each man.

Finally, it was over.

Eliot sighed deeply, dimly aware of the whip master leaving. Moreau rose and stepped behind Eliot to survey the damage.

Moreau whistled. “You don't look so good, my friend.”

Eliot grunted tiredly, sweat stinging his eyes.

Hearing Moreau behind him, Eliot couldn’t raise enough interest to see what he was doing, but when he felt Moreau beside him, Eliot tensed. Feeling something press against his back, it took a moment before the sting of alcohol in the broken skin registered. Eliot flinched and tried to move away but there was no give in his bonds and he endured the sting.

“This is how I felt when you betrayed me,” Moreau said, ardently. “Flayed open and in pain. I trusted you, Eliot. You were closer to me than anyone else.”

Eliot felt the cloth move over his back, increasing the extent of the sting. He hissed in pain.

Moreau stepped in front of Eliot and dropped the blood-stained cloth where Eliot could see it.

“Do you understand?” Moreau asked. “Are you sorry yet?”

Barking out a laugh, Eliot saw Moreau’s face redden in anger. Turning, Moreau quickly punched Eliot in the face, cutting his lip.

Eliot spit blood to the floor, then grinned and taunted, “When ya gonna start the torture?”

Moreau grunted angrily and punched Eliot again, knocking him out.

***

This time when Eliot came to he was sitting in chair across the table from Moreau, hands bound in front of him, but still secured to the chain and bolted to the floor. His back felt better as he leaned heavily against the cold metal, but he was uneasy realizing he was now naked.

“Well, it seems we’ve almost come to the end, Eliot, but I need you to see something first.”

Eliot tried not to react, knowing that Moreau was a hyena and anything was possible.

Moreau snapped his fingers and the first guard came in guy with laptop. Opening it, Moreau clicked a few buttons and then spun it around so Eliot could see the screen.

“Here we go. Recognize this?”

Eliot recognized the outside of brewpub. _Fuck._

“Let’s see,” Moreau said conversationally, “what else do we have?”

With a click of a button, the view changed to inside of brewpub. Eliot saw Amy and other staff he was familiar with, and realized the feed was current.

Another click and the image changed to their offices. Eliot wasn’t sure if he was relieved to see the offices empty and dark. Maybe... maybe the team was somewhere safe.

“Oh,” Moreau started, his tone and expression were deadly, “you want to see your team, don’t you?” Moreau turned the screen away from Eliot.

Fear and anger burned hot in Eliot’s belly, but he could only wait helplessly while Moreau tapped a few more keys. _If he fucking touched them..._

“Ah, here.” Eliot’s heart stopped as the laptop slowly turned back in his direction.

There they were, his team, his... family. The location was unfamiliar but they looked safe. Nate was pacing, drink in hand. Hardison was typing on his laptop, untouched orange soda beside him. Sophie was sitting nearby, but her foot was bouncing in nervousness. Parker... Parker was sitting cross-legged on a couch... sitting still. Eliot knew she was worried.

“Does it warm your heart to know they’re looking for you?” Moreau asked sardonically.

Eliot’s expression must have given something away.

“I can have your people in my hands with a single word, it’s your choice.”

“What do ya want?” Eliot growled.

Moreau leaned back in his chair and smiled slowly. “I want you to submit to me.”

Eliot laughed loudly. “Not gonna happen!”

Moreau was impassive. “Oh, I can be very persuasive. You see, you took all that very well, as expected, but can you imagine Sophie being caned? How do you think she’d handle it? Do you think Nathan Ford could survive the waterboarding like you did? Be interesting. What about your hacker, Hardison? Wonder how he’d like to feel the sting of the whip on his skin. You see, that’s what will happen if you don’t submit. Your choice.”

Eliot was silent.

“You’ve gotten weak, my friend. Attaching yourself to them.” Moreau shook his head.

Eliot sneered in contempt.

***

“I knew you wouldn’t submit willingly, not without a little incentive,” Moreau said with a wicked glint in his eyes. 

A feeling of dread filled Eliot as Moreau opened the laptop and turned it around. 

The camera angle had changed to an interior of what looked to be a hotel. Then Eliot saw a man pushing a room service cart down the corridor before stopping and knocking on a door. Moreau clicked another button and the screen shifted to the interior of the hotel room. Eliot watched Nate open the door and the same man from the corridor pushed the room service cart in.

Moreau clicked another button and the image changed back to the corridor. This time Eliot watched as the hallway was filled with half a dozen men dressed in black, carrying automatic weapons. It was clear they were headed to take Eliot’s team, his family.

“Don’t do this!” Eliot implored, his eyes flashing to Moreau’s. 

“Too late,” Moreau said with barely concealed glee, changing the view on the screen back to the hotel room.

Eliot’s watched helplessly as the men filled the room, quickly grabbing Nate, who was closest to the door. Hardison jumped up from the desk and picked up the chair, swinging it at the first man who approached. The man deflected the blow and grabbed the chair while another man tackled Hardison, subduing him.

Searching for the girls, Eliot spotted Sophie yelling and reaching for something nearby to throw, but one man grabbed her arms and roughly shook her.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Eliot mumbled to himself. He had never felt so helpless in his entire life.

Catching a flash in the top corner of the screen, Eliot saw a window shatter and Parker jump out. He didn’t know where they were or what floor they were on, but he knew (hoped) Parker would have been prepared for any contingency. 

“She got away,” Moreau said with a shrug. “Too bad. I was looking forward to getting a taste of that one.”

“Leave ‘em alone! I’ll do whatever you want! Let them go! Don’t hurt ‘em!” Eliot screamed at Moreau, rocking his body in the metal chair, rattling the chains violently.

Moreau sat calmly across from him, watching Eliot’s outburst with a hint of surprise and amusement. He’d never seen the hitter react to anything so fervently. Slamming the laptop closed, he waited until he had Eliot’s undivided attention.

“It’s too late,” he said calmly. “That happened two days ago.”

“NO!” Eliot howled.

“I’ll leave you to think about that,” Moreau said as he stood and left the room.

Eliot barely heard him leave, so consumed with the thoughts running through his head. 

_No! They can’t be here, they can’t be here, they can’t! They gotta get out! I gotta get ‘em out! I don’t care what happens to me, but not them. Not for me, not because of me._

Taking deep breaths, Eliot tried to calm down and think rationally. Moreau wanted him, the team were just bargaining chips to get him to submit. And he could submit, he would. He would do whatever Moreau wanted, so long as his team was released first.

The cell door opened, and Moreau came back in, resuming his seat across from Eliot. Before Moreau could speak, Eliot spoke. His voice was steady and low, but his words were clear and precise.

“I will do whatever you want. I’ll submit willingly. Whatever you want. Just release them first and you can have me.”

Moreau sat back, running a finger across his bottom lip. Eliot’s proposal was interesting, but Moreau was under no illusion. While he knew Eliot was a man of his word, without his team on the line, Moreau knew Eliot would kill him the first chance he got.

“You make a compelling case,” Moreau started, “but I still don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation.”

Eliot raised his eyes and met Moreau’s. “Before, I only wanted your submission. Now, I want more.”

“More?”

“I will stop looking for the blonde who escaped, and I will release the rest of your team, if you do one final job for me.”

“Done.”

“Ahh, but you don’t know what that job is,” Moreau chided.

“Don’t matter,” Eliot said simply.

“Good,” Moreau said, starting to rise, but then sat back down. “Oh, one other thing. There’s still the matter of your submission.”

Eliot’s stomach rolled. 

Moreau called for the guard. 

“If something happens to me,” Moreau instructed the guard, “tell the men to kill his team any way they wish. And he dies in here, alone, listening to their screams.” He gestured to Eliot.

The guard grinned nastily at Eliot. “Yes, sir.”

Moreau handed the laptop to the guard and took the key to Eliot’s shackles. The sound of the door locking behind him was loud in Eliot’s ears. 

“Don’t forget what will happen to them if you resist,” Moreau reiterated. 

Watching as Moreau bent to unlock the cuffs around his ankles, Eliot fought the instinct to kick Moreau in the face, remembering what was most important: his team’s safety. Moreau released Eliot’s bound hands from the chain but paused before unlocking the wrist cuffs.

Eliot tilted his head up, and said, “I won’t fight.”

Moreau finished unlocking the cuffs, tossed them aside, and then leaned down and gripped a handful of Eliot’s hair. Studying Eliot’s eyes, he waited until he saw the submission. When he kissed Eliot, it was all tongue and aggression.

Breaking the kiss, Moreau released Eliot’s hair. “Nice.” He pushed his erection against Eliot’s arm. “You always made me so hard.”

Moreau caressed Eliot’s face, his thumb sliding over Eliot’s lips and into his mouth. Undoing his pants with one hand, Moreau stroked his cock in Eliot’s face and then guided himself into Eliot’s mouth.

Eliot closed his eyes and tried not to choke. 

“Open your eyes,” Moreau said softly, like a lover would.

His stomach rolling, Eliot fought the urge to gag and complied. He sucked as Moreau repeated thrust his cock into his mouth. 

“Just like I remember it,” Moreau said, caressing Eliot’s face while looking into his eyes. 

Moreau increased his pace, groaning with every thrust, and Eliot knew he was going to finish. Bracing himself, Eliot could only keep going. 

Coming, Moreau squeezed Eliot’s face roughly, and pulled out, backing away. Eliot turned and spat the bitter ejaculate onto the concrete flood.

Eliot sat on the hard metal chair and waited while Moreau caught his breath. He wasn’t sure what was next, only that he would hate it.

“Remember,” Moreau said as he stepped closer, “you asked for this.”

***

The guards had returned Eliot’s jeans and boots, and now, as he sat across from Moreau, he tried not to think about the aches and pains he felt throughout his body. He was waiting for Moreau to tell him the final thing, final job he must complete before his team would be released.

“That was almost as good as I remembered it,” Moreau commented. “But I suppose you did fulfil you’re end.”

Eliot waited, his face impassive.

“I have a little punishment I need you to dole out,” Moreau told him. 

“Fine.”

“Follow me,” Moreau said, standing and leading Eliot out of the cell to another cell across the hall. 

The cell was a mirror image of the one he’d been held in, but several guards were standing around something at the far end of the cell. When the door was closed and locked, and the men stepped back, pulling a lever which slowly raised Alec Hardison off the ground, his arms above his head, in a position reminiscent of when Eliot was whipped. A whip lay coiled on the metal table.

“No!” Eliot said, whipping his head around to Moreau. 

“Fine,” Moreau said, then looked at one of his men. “Kill him.”

“NO! Wait!” Eliot pleaded.

Moreau held up and hand, halting the guard’s hand.

“Please,” Eliot said roughly.

“You knew my terms,” Moreau reminded. “You agreed to them.”

Eliot clenched his fists and ran through every scenario he could think of to get Hardison out of this room alive and unhurt. Even if Eliot could take out all the guards and Moreau, they were still locked in a room with no way out. Maybe if he held a gun to Moreau’s head, a guard outside would open the door.

“Eliot, just do what he wants,” Hardison said.

“No,” Eliot said gruffly. “You don’t know...”

One of the guards made a move to silence Hardison, but Moreau waved him away, watching the storm of emotions running across Eliot’s face.

“It’s okay, Eliot. Do it,” Hardison said, his eyes locking with Eliot’s.

“I can’t!” Eliot said through gritted teeth.

“You have to!”

“Enough!” Moreau said loudly. “Get on with it or I’ll shoot him myself!”

“Okay,” Eliot said resignedly. “Okay.”

Eliot picked up the whip off the table and slowly walked behind his friend, the guards moving out of the way. He let the whip uncoil and snapped it against the wall a couple of times. He tried not to notice how Hardison’s body jerked at the sound.

“Get on with it already!” Moreau commanded. 

Eliot sighed heavily and tightened his grip. 

“It’s okay, man,” Hardison said, his voice trembling. “I forgive you.”

Eliot raised the whip with a shaky hand. 

Suddenly, the lights went out and the room went pitch black. Amid shouts and the sounds of a scuffle, Eliot dropped the whip and stepped in front of Hardison, unsure what was happening until he heard a familiar voice ring out in the darkness.

“Turn the lights back on!” Parker said.

When the lights came on, Eliot saw the guards and Moreau on the ground, with Parker and Quinn standing over them.

“What’re y’all supposed to be?” Eliot asked with a half-grin on his face.

“We’d be the cavalry,” Quinn said with a cheeky grin, then stepped forward to shake Eliot’s hand.

The cell door opened and Eliot turned, ready to fight, but he stopped when he saw Tara Cole step inside.

“Let’s go,” she said. “I found where they’re holding Sophie.”

Quinn followed her out while Parker helped Eliot get Hardison down. While Hardison massaged his stiff shoulders, Parker retrieved his shirts which had been discarded in the corner, and then stepped over to the door to keep watch. Hardison handed Eliot his tee-shirt and put on the long-sleeved heavier shirt.

“I never woulda...” Eliot started, waving his hand at the whip laying innocuously on the ground.

Hardison put a hand on Eliot’s shoulder and said seriously, “You would have, if you’d had to. And I would have forgiven you.”

Eliot nodded sharply, ignoring the burn in his eyes. 

“Let’s go,” Parker hissed. “Chaos says Interpol will be here in 10 minutes!”

“Chaos!” Eliot said with surprise. 

They stepped out of the cell and Parker shut the door and locked it. Taking a moment to pull out a black sharpie and writing on the cell door: _Bad Guys Here!_

After joining Tara and Quinn, who had just released Sophie from her cell and restrains, they moved further down the hall and opened the cell Nate was being held in. Parker held out a knife to Eliot, who used it to cut the mastermind’s restrains.

“We’ve got 5 minutes,” Quinn said, leading the way through a maze of hallways until they found themselves outside and in the back of a van. 

“Hello, Nate,” Sterling said from the driver’s seat.

“Sterling!” Nate, Hardison and Eliot said simultaneously with a healthy dose of surprise and disbelief.

Sitting back, they locked hands with the girls, and watched as a slew of cars passed them on the way to where they’d been held captive.

***

Hours later, aboard a private jet, the nine passengers made their way to London from Serbia. Eliot had laughed when he’d realized he’d been held in Serbia, just as he’d suspected early on.

Parker plopped down beside Eliot and wouldn’t let him get more than two feet away. The rest of the team stuck close, as if they were afraid he would disappear.

“Who’s jet is this anyway?” Eliot asked.

“Oh,” Nate said, “it belongs to Walter Whitman Wellesley IV.”

“Mr. Lonely Heart?” Eliot asked.

“Yeah,” Nate continued. “He was more than happy to get rid of his debt to me.”

Finally, Eliot asked the question that had been burning a hole in his brain. “What happened after I was taken?”

“Sterling called me,” Nate started, but Sterling interrupted. 

“I was informed that Moreau had escaped, and let Nate know.”

“But,” Nate continued, “you had already been taken.”

“And then?” Eliot prompted.

“Oh, well,” Hardison said, leaning forward. “You know, I worked my magic. Tracked your comm, found video. You know, did my _thang_.”

“But it was a shell game,” Sophie elaborated.

They told him about the decoy vans in Portland and Boston, about how they’d manually gone through flight plans leaving Boston until they found the right one to London. In London, they tracked the flight to a private hanger, but this time only one van had left. Thinking they were getting closer, they’d been disappointed when it turned out to be a dead end also. Tracking cameras and other surveillance systems in London proved a huge job, so Hardison had contacted Chaos.

“You called **him**?!” Eliot was surprised, but Hardison shrugged it off. 

“Chaos was the one that figured out we were being bugged,” Parker said.

Hardison grumbled, “I woulda found ‘em.”

“But you didn’t. I did,” Chaos said arrogantly before the glares he received shut him up.

Eliot was still a little confused on the details and at his questioning look, Nate tried to fill in the blanks.

“Moreau was leaving bread crumbs but they were too perfect. He was only showing us what he wanted us to see. We needed another team to look in a different direction.” Nate continued, “And once we realized Moreau was watching, we had to improvise.”

Tara picked up the story. “Sophie called and told me you’d been taken by Moreau and they needed help.” She shrugged. “Plus, I owed her.”

“And you?” Eliot asked, directing his question to Quinn.

“I’d heard about job requiring specially trained men for a high-level threat, and then Nate called. Plus you still owed me a favor.” Quinn winked.

“But y’all were taken by Moreau’s men,” Eliot said. “Was that part of the plan?”

“No,” Nate said vehemently. “They surprised us.”

“It’s a good thing Parker’s quick on her feet,” Tara said. “She was able to get out and warn us.”

“And **I** put a tracker on their van so—”

“I’ve got a bruise on my shoulder where she,” Quinn pointed at Parker, “landed on me when she came out the window. How’d you know I’d be there?”

“I didn’t,” Parker said with a shrug.

“Join the club,” Eliot said, winking at the other hitter.

***

They stopped in London to refuel and drop off their passengers.

Eliot and Quinn stood near the doorway.

“Guess you owe me two now,” Quinn said, chuckling.

They shook hands. 

“But I don’t want to stay in London,” Chaos said as Hardison pushed the other hacker towards the exit. 

With a wink at Eliot, Quinn said, “Come on, I’ll take you to the circus.” He wrapped a strong arm around the hacker and pulled him off the plane.

“But I don’t like the circus...” Was the next thing they heard, and they all laughed.

“You’re staying?” Sophie asked as Tara stood up.

“Might as well,” she said. “Call me.”

All eyes turned to Sterling who was sitting back and sipping a glass of champagne. 

“Well,” Sterling said, “I guess that’s my cue.”

He stood and looked around, then said, “I’m sure I’ll see you all again.”

Nate followed Sterling out to make sure the other man had truly left, and when he returned, he told the pilot they were ready to go home.

They settled down for the long flight home, Parker resumed her position beside Eliot, with Hardison on the other side of him. 

“I’m glad you’re back!” She flung her arms around Eliot to hug him again, but he was surprised by it, and flinched when she scraped across his back.

Sophie and Nate saw him flinch and exchanged a questioning look but didn’t say anything. 

Midway across the Atlantic, Eliot eased off the couch and away from a sleeping Parker. Hardison was crashed out in one of the reclining seats, Sophie in another. Nate appeared to be passed out sitting up, the half-empty bottle of Irish seemed to be the cause.

Coming out of the bathroom, Eliot was surprised to find Nate standing there waiting for him. Guilt and recrimination poured off Nate in waves.

“Should never ‘ave gone after Moreau. Stupid.” Nate shook his head.

“No, no!” Eliot said harshly. “It’s on me. I worked for him, I knew what he was.”

Nate seemed momentarily mollified by his explanation, and Eliot helped him back to the seat. Sophie had woken up and tucked her blanket around Nate, then turned to Eliot.

“Do you need a doctor?” she asked softly.

“Naw.”

He could see the doubt and pain in her eyes, but he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“I’ll heal.”

As she moved past him towards the bathroom, he shifted and his back momentarily came in contact with the wall. He winced and shook his head. Looking around, he found Hardison’s eyes on him. The hacker was half out of his seat, but Eliot walked back to the couch and settled in beside Parker.

“What did he do to you?” Hardison asked softly.

Eliot shrugged off the question, but said, “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Hardison looked like he wanted to say more, but Parker’s sleepy voice broke the moment.

“No, not my Sparky!”

Hardison and Eliot smiled at each other, then Eliot laid a comforting hand on her back and Parker immediately settled down.

***

They landed in Portland early the next morning. Nate had gotten a car, but Eliot waved them off. He needed some breathing space, but knew they needed the reassurance of his presence. 

“I’ll be by later to make dinner,” he told them.

Parker nodded stoically, then suddenly jumped at him, wrapping her arms around him fiercely. Just as quickly as she had jumped, she slid out of his embrace.

“Bring cereal!”

Eliot shook his head as he watched her slip into the back seat of the waiting car.

Hardison was beside him, squeezing him, if possible, tighter than Parker had. 

“Don’t do that again!” Hardison said emotionally. Eliot’s eyes burned remembering their rescue of Hardison from the coffin.

The hacker slid into the waiting car beside Parker.

Sophie was next, unabashed tears rolling down her cheeks. He squeezed her tight and tried to reassure her that he was there and in one piece. 

She finally pulled back and looked deeply into his eyes. 

“If you need anything, you call me.”

Eliot nodded, but they both knew he wouldn’t need anything.

And then came Nate. 

Eliot felt his heart catch in his throat as Nate’s shaky hand covered his mouth. Eliot pulled him in and gripped him fiercely.

“Too close,” Nate mumbled into Eliot’s neck.

“Was.” Eliot didn’t trust himself to say more.

With a final squeeze, Nate released him. Turning, he took Sophie’s hand and they both headed for the car.

Eliot waited until the car drove away, watching the whole time.

It would take time, but they would all heal.

***

Moreau looked up as the holding room door opened. If he was surprised to Eliot, his eyes didn’t show it.

“Seems like old times,” Eliot said, taking a seat across from the cuffed man.

Moreau laughed. “I always did enjoy your sense of humor.”

Eliot didn’t say anything.

“You cut your hair,” Moreau observed. 

Eliot still didn’t say a word, but they both knew why he'd cut it.

“What do you want, Eliot? Here to gloat?” Moreau asked suddenly.

“Nope, here to watch you die,” Eliot said sharply.

“I think you missed me,” Moreau went on as if Eliot hadn’t spoken.

“Ya think pretty highly of yourself,” Eliot started, “but honestly, when I walk away from here, I’ll never think of you again.”

“It won’t be that easy to forget, Eliot,” Moreau said cockily.

Walking over to the holding room door, Eliot stood with his hand on the knob. “Yes, it will. You’re just another scar from the past.”

Without another word or a glance back, Eliot let himself out, ignoring Moreau calling his name.

***

Eliot stood in the shadows and watched as Moreau was led to the firing squad. The older man walked with an easy grace, as if he were just going to dinner, and Eliot grudgingly admired that. Eliot knew if the situation were reversed, he wouldn’t go easy. 

Moreau refused a blind fold and stood against the wall facing the firing squad. 

After a reading of the charges, the sentence was ready to be carried out.

“Ready.” The firing squad lifted their weapons.

“Set.” The firing squad readied their weapons.

“FIRE!” Eliot flinched as the volley sounded.

He watched Moreau’s body slump back against the wall and slide, as if in slow motion, to the ground. Holding his ground, Eliot waited until the doctor confirmed Moreau’s death, and then turned and walked away.

The door on his past with Moreau was finally closed forever.

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to the original story is [Aftershock](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20633183). Since the events of this story are different, the sequel won't comply with this story, but it's still a decent read.


End file.
